Leaving
by RhiannonNymph
Summary: Character death. Just general angst stuff. I left it ship nuetral, so it can be anyone you want it to be, all ships welcome! COMPLETE
1. Him

**DISCLAMIER: **I don't own anything, I am making no money. The only thing I'm doing is losing sleep. The song is 'My Worst Fear' by Rascal Flatts,I've been told songfics have been banned, so I took them out. Dont know how I missed that, but thanks for letting me know ;) so you'll just have to look up the lyrics...it's a good song.

I couldn't sleep, I was trying to but then this just started coming to me in bits and pieces so I had to write it down before I forgot, and then I just started writing everything.

Anyway, I'll finish my other story soon, and then start re-doing the other. Finals this week, and then I'm free baby!

I wrote this without describing who is in bed and who the woman is so that all shipperdoms would feel welcome. Sheyla, McWeir, hell Teyla/Ford, Ford/Weir, it can be whoever you want it to be…well, except for Beckett.

Oh well, enjoy!

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His eyes opened slightly, unnoticeable to those milling about. The light burned his eyes, sending a wave of pain through his already pounding skull. He closed them again, waiting for the wave to pass, waiting for the light of the living world to become bearable again. He wasn't sure it was something he would ever know.

He felt like he'd been lying there for an eternity, and for all he knew it could have been just that long, but he was reasonably sure it had only been a day or so, maybe three. Head injuries could lead a person down an ever widening, darkened path, with a stop here or there along the way to get one's bearings.

He might not remember everything that happened, but he remembered what he'd heard last night. It was one of those stops along the path, where he became aware of the real world taking shape around him.

flashback

There had been noises, familiar ones; they were they kind of sounds you'd hear in a hospital. The shuffling of papers, the rolling of a cart, the sound of x-rays being snapped into an upright position in mid-air before being placed on a backlit table of some kind. He knew he was in the infirmary, not just because of noises, no, there were voices, one in particular that meant health issues.

That soft, Scottish brogue, it was a sound he didn't mind hearing at all really, given the right circumstances. When he was a child he'd often wished for some kind of suave accent, it was a killer with the ladies.

But the usual playfulness was gone and the voice had been thick with sorrow, laced with pain and regret. He wasn't a dumb man; he could read between the lines, the tone said everything.

_I want to help, but I can't._

_There's too much damage…it's too late._

_He's as good as dead._

The voice would never say that, not to anyone. He could have a sucking chest wound and the owner of the voice would try to tell him he was ok. But he wasn't, and he as well as everyone else, knew that. He could feel it. His life was slipping away, like sand through his fingers. For a brief, misguided second, he wondered if this is what it felt like to be fed on by a Wraith. He came to the conclusion that it had to be very different, this was a mind set. He couldn't really feel himself dying, not yet, but if he thought about…he could imagine the feeling.

There were other voices, ones he knew well, some he didn't, and there might have even been one or to he detested, but they were there for him, to feel sorry for and pity him. One by one, they left until it was just the good doctor and one other, a female. To her he told the truth, not in so many words as he'd imagined, the doctor had it sugar coated the truth. When he'd told her, she'd accepted without contesting, loss was something they all knew well.

She'd stepped to his bed, and not seeing that he was awake, began to speak softly. Her voice was like silk, soft and soothing. If he wasn't careful he was liable to fall back into sleep, back to the dark road, but he wanted to hear what she had to say, and it was a lot.

Some regret for actions and emotions left untouched, words not spoken between the pair. Anger for not being able to help, not being there to stop the catastrophe that had befallen him, like she could have held her arms out like Moses to give them safe passage. Sadness for not knowing him as well as would have been liked, sadness for everything, even the things she couldn't control.

Things like the Wraith, all the problems confronting them, delaying the march toward the Wraith's defeat.

There was sadness over a loss that hadn't happened yet, but couldn't be stopped.

And then, the last sentence to leave her lips floated over him like the warn sunshine, and for a moment he forgot his fate.

"I love you."

Then the reality of his situation had made its self known, he felt like an ice pick had been shoved through his skull; the pain forcing a reaction making his body dig into the bed sending lightning bolts of pain through the rest of him. His head wasn't the only thing injured, his chest, arms, legs, back. He felt like a giant bruise, he was probably bleeding internally, that would be his downfall, bleeding they couldn't stop. He might as well be a hemophiliac.

He was in the worst pain of his life, but he couldn't help but spare a mental laugh. Women were difficult, no doubt. All it took for someone to tell him how they felt was his inevitable death. On the brink of the big sleep, someone decided to say they loved him.

He was going to die; there was no doubt in his mind. Would he be able to say something to this person? Could he let them know how he felt?

He'd had to try. He opened his mouth to speak, and he waited. He could just imagine himself lying there, mouth agape, waiting for word that weren't coming. Not because he didn't know what to say, on the contrary he knew exactly what he wanted to express, but he couldn't. It was like he forgot how to work his vocal cords.

Unable to stop her, he'd watched her walk away. Replaying those three simple words over and over in his head he had drifted back to that path, which seemingly had no end.

end flashback

Now the next morning, he struggled to open his eyes, more determined now to say what he needed to say, because God knew how much time he had left.

Who would take over for him?

What would his teammates do? Would the pick someone knew right off the bat, and continue on? Maybe they'd hold everyone to an unattainable standard and they'd go one as a three person team.

What would they do without him? Who would they turn to, who would give them something to laugh at, or make fun of? How would they get by? Would they miss him?

They'd survive; of course, he had no doubt about that, but what of him? They'd move on, be set back, but keep going and eventually he'd be lost. He'd become a memory aged and forgotten with the passing of time and people. He'd be a name chiseled in metal and hung on a wall. Maybe there would be a picture, maybe not.

But that was something wasn't it? He'd be remembered by those few who took the time to read the names listed on the wall?

None of that mattered; not really, all that mattered was that she knew, that he told her.

He tried to open his eyes again, they were sticky, the crust of sleep holding them together. He opened them, and squinted against the light.

Day four, or five…it wasn't important, what was, was that this was likely to be it. It was his last day. He opened his mouth again, and a horrid, gravely sound emerged, searing his throat in the process. His mouth closed as he tried to accumulate saliva to swallow, to allow him to speak. His body ached, sore for the beating it had taken days before.

The hope he'd had for wetting his throat dissipated, he didn't have any thing to give. He croaked out her name, and it burned for nothing, his voice was nothing more than a whisper and could easily be mistaken for a moan.

Where was she? She should have been there, by his side, all night, waiting for something, anything.

Amidst all his aches and pains he could feel his stomach tighten into knots. He was hurt beyond reason. She said she loved him, a sentiment he returned ten fold, and she wasn't going to be there to see him off. He didn't understand how someone could say that, then not be there at their beloved's death bed.

He remembered what he'd thought last night, about feeling death. He felt it now…the icy cold fingers lacing themselves around his soul, waiting for the most inopportune time to yank it out.

His eyes were burning again, but not from the light, this time from tears. He didn't want to die. No one ever did. What was that saying…don't fear death, fear the unlived life, it was probably spouted off by some spiritualist. He'd lived, yes. He'd done some incredibly amazing things, yes. He'd lived his life, but he had so much more to do, he should have had so much more time. It was unfair.

But on the other hand, he didn't want to linger. He was in pain, and it wasn't going to stop until his eyes closed for good. He was scared to die, and just as scared he'd be stuck in a state of pain should he live.

Which did he fear more was the real question. Was there something after, somewhere he could go and keep an eye on his friends? Maybe he could ascend, hold out for that third option? Not likely, he didn't know where to begin to try and reach another level of existence, and from what he knew of all the rules, he wasn't sure it was somewhere he wanted to be anyway.

Death or pain?

Pain or death?

Neither option appealed to him, and they weren't really options, now were they? He was going to die.

His eyes were drifting closed again, he felt tired and weary. He moved his arms in a feeble attempt to get someone to notice him. He didn't want to die alone, and if she couldn't be there to hold his hand, anyone would do. Luckily someone was nearby and caught the movement, the reached his side in time to see his eyes flutter closed, and hear a low grumble escape his lips. They bent over him, without saying a word they lowered their ear to his lips.

He felt the air above him grow heavy. Someone had come, taken his hand, and without asking, acknowledged that they would hear him. He spoke through the pain, through the darkness, asking this person to deliver a message of love and sadness, and happiness for time well spent.

The pain in his body died down, and he faded back into his place on the path. It had become significantly narrower, and he knew there were no more stops, and it was lighter, like dawn had finally reached the path's edges.

What he saw was more intoxicating than the city he'd left, but it was twice as empty as the city had been when they found it. Maybe one day, when he'd faded to nothing but a name carved in a wall, she'd be there with him, and he could tell her everything he'd meant to.

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Yeah, so, it's like 5:30 now, the sun is coming up, thank God it's a 6pm class…R and R please! 


	2. Her

For PurpleYin, because you asked. I hope it's to your liking.

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PART 2

The fabric of the bed sheets was crushed into her fists. She lay on her back, just staring, letting her mind wonder. There was so much she had left to say, but Beckett had chased her out of the infirmary, and she had fought him every step of the way. She didn't want to be somewhere else when it happened, she wanted to be right there holding his hand. She'd been there all night.

Now she laid in her bed, for how long…an hour, maybe two? She hadn't closed her eyes except to blink away the tears. They leaked out the corner of her eyes and traced a path across the short distance to her ears.

It was unfair to say the least, every death had been unfair, but each had been taken in stride. This…this threw her off balance; it probably threw a lot of people off balance. This was something she was wholly unprepared for.

What made him different? Why should his death be more important than anyone else's, he wouldn't want to be held above the others like that, but love's a bitch – especially when the person you love is dying from something that could have been completely avoided.

She sat up and put her feet over the edge of her bed, she didn't stand though, she wasn't sure she could. The floor was cold beneath her feet…cold like death.

She wished she could kiss it all away and make it better. She wanted to go to him, to tell him it would be okay and for it to be true, but she couldn't lie to a dying man. Her chest tightened as she tried to hold in a sob. She failed miserably, and gave into the tears that had been plaguing her. Hunched over, her head in her hands, she wept.

For the loss, for the pain and the tears. For all the memories and all the future ones that had been burned to ashes in one foul swoop. All the words, looks, and laughs, the victories and defeats. Who would she go to now? There was no one quite like him.

Her stomach knotted and her heart pounded, she felt utterly lost. She felt like she'd lost a limb or that her heart had been viciously ripped from her. She had lost people before, loved ones, friends, but none had been as painful as this. She felt like she was going to throw up. She moved quickly from her bed to the small bathroom that accompanied her quarters. Hunched over the toilet, she lost what little she'd eaten since her love's return through the 'Gate.

Once she'd clamed her self, and she'd stopped breathing in gasping breaths, she made it to the sink, found a washrag and wet it with cold water. She placed it on her forehead, sitting back against the wall. This wasn't helping her, not the coolness of the water, not trying to sleep; she felt beyond help, the only thing that could help her now was a miracle she was sure she wouldn't get.

She pulled her self to her feet, and on shaky legs, looked into the mirror. She looked horrible, her face was streaked, her hair was a mess, and her eyes looked old and tired and were underlined with bags. She did her best to fix herself up before she left her room, but truth was she just didn't care, all she wanted was to be by his side to the very end.

Walking down the hall she took deep breaths, with each step she was closer to him, and with each step she came closer to breaking down again. From time to time she leaned against the wall, steadying herself before she could move on. She was pressing herself, she was moving too slow and every second was costly.

She started down the hall again, her legs taking her as fast as she could make them go, but it wasn't fast enough. From around the corner came a stark white shirt, it was the color the medical staff liked to wear. It seemed like each group in the city had their own colors. From the fast movements of the person approaching her, she knew what the news had to be. She stopped walking; she stood rigid in the middle of the hallway, waiting for the orderly to stop in front of her.

With every step he took toward her, her breathing became heavier. If he said what she thought he would…she didn't know how she'd react.

He came to a halt in front of her, his frantic search over. He kept his eyes downcast for several long, murderous, moments before he looked her in the eye. Fear and sadness swept across his face. He'd said so much without saying one word.

She sucked in her lips to keep them from trembling; it was a pointless effort when the rest of her body made up for the movement of her lips. Her arms shook and her hands clenched into fists, what looked like anger was betrayed for what it really was by her legs, they became wobbly. How could he just leave her like that? He was supposed to fight.

She had to move before he lost her balance and crashed to the floor. She took a terrifying step in the direction of the infirmary, but the man put his hand on her shoulder, stopping. She would have been furious if not for the words he wept.

His voice was hardly a whisper and she had to lean in to hear him, she feared she may not be able to walk on her own after she heard this, "He said…he said to tell you that he loved you too."

She sucked in another breath that caught in her throat. He'd been awake, at some point he'd been aware that she was there for him, and he knew that she loved him. It was something, but to her it was too little, too late, and she would never hear those words from his lips, in his voice. It broke her heart all over again.

She pushed herself from the young man's reach and continued on her way. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he hadn't passed yet, maybe there was still time, if she could just hurry.

Or maybe she'd only gotten her hopes up.

When she reached the infirmary, it was still. Unearthly still, there was nothing, no movement, no beeps, no hope. Everyone was just standing around, avoiding eye contact. She moved to his bed slowly, tears threatening to break loose and show her to be human. She was within a foot of his bed when she stopped, her eyes wide and searching. Hoping beyond hope that his chest would rise and she could feel silly for thinking he'd leave her in such a manner. But it didn't happen.

With one great lurch, she rocked forward and leaned over his bed. Her eyes roamed over him, and blurred with salty pain, her hand came up to cover her mouth as a series of short gasps shook her body. Her other hand hovered over his head, afraid to touch him. Those standing in the distance shuffled away, each to mourn in their own way, if at all.

After the initial shock wore off she put her hand to his forehead, she took in the cuts that scared him, and moved her hand through his hair and over the purple-green bruises and then brought it to rest on his jaw line.

His eyes were closed, like he was sleeping…like she'd thought he'd been the night before. Again she hoped it was all a mistake, and he was only pretending to be asleep again, he was holding in his breath to mess with her. She cursed at herself for being so naïve, that was not something he would do, she had to stop setting herself up.

She just wanted him to open his eyes, one last time, so she could lock onto them, and burn them into her memory, and know that they looked at her with love. She bent in closer to him, scared and hurt, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. She let out a small gasp when she learned they were cold. That was the last straw; she collapsed onto his chest, tears running free and her sobs unchecked.

And nothing happened. No arms embraced her, no words of comfort came, and if any had they would have done nothing for her. She was in agony, if ever there were a hell; she imagined it couldn't be worse than this. To know your one true love has died while you were trying to sleep, to know that he loved you back, and to have to hear it from another's lips. She slipped to the floor and curled in on herself.

After a few moments, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and it burned. She didn't want to be touched, not ever. Her head shot up, for only a moment she caught Carson's sad blue eyes, before she jumped to her feet, and with one last fleeting glance at the man on the bed, she dashed from the room before her legs gave way.

She ran, to where she wasn't sure, but she had to go. She couldn't stay there, and watch them take him away; she couldn't stay there and watch him not breathe.

Before she knew it she was outside, and the cold salt water breeze chilled her to the core. She knew where she was, and was slightly shocked to see where her grieving body had taken her. A balcony she had frequented, often in his company, that over looked West pier. Many times they'd stood there, studying the city, enjoying the last embers of the sun, talking, all the things she'd never get to do with him again.

She moved to the railing and stepped up on to it. Her bare feet curled around the bottom rung and she wrapped her fingers around the top. She felt like she should hold out her arms and shout she was king of the world, but there was no one behind her…and Rose even tried to jump off the boat at one point.

The thought crossed her mind, she'd let every chance with him in life slip past her, but in death…that was the eternal ever after right? They could be there, together and in love for the rest of time…all she had to do was die. She had already, she felt utterly dead inside, and the most important thing had been taken from her, what did she have left? A life devoid of love and a lifetime to feel the bitterness this day had caused.

She stepped down from the rail, and she backed up into the wall and slid down. She brought her knees up, wrapped her arms around them and her head sunk down to her knees. He would hate her if she'd jump. If she even made it to where ever he was, that is. He'd want her to stay strong, to carry on, and to find something to make her happy again. Not to die, not to give up.

She didn't want to let him down. Even in death it felt like he still had an eye on her, making sure she was always up to the challenge. She pressed her head back against the wall. The air was cold, and made the water trail created by her tears even colder.

How would she carry on? Pretend it didn't happen, see his name scribbled onto some paper list under dozens of others and move on? Walk past his room like it was a storage lot?

It would be hard, and she wasn't sure she'd ever really recover, but she had to try, for him. So she sat for a while, outside, her cries of pain carried away on the wind while her heart melted in her chest.

She loved him, he'd loved her, and he was gone.

FIN

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Four pages and only twelve spoken words…but it's all good. R and R please. 


End file.
